Travelers Together

Donald and Melody: Two lives united in friendship,
Two friends united in love,
One love united in Christ.
God has led two to take one path
and travel together
as they press toward the mark of the prize
of the high calling of God, in Christ Jesus.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Writing Prompt #8 - We are all surrounded by gadgets. If your favorite one
failed, what else could you use it for?

Stephen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as he
recalled the events of the last hour. He looked at his valuable and now
extremely damaged piece of equipment and decided to do both. How he wished he
could crawl into his 3-year-old daughter’s head to know what she was thinking!
He imagined it must have gone something like this…

“I want to make a cake for Daddy’s birthday. I can
use my play-dough to make it! And I can put M&Ms in it too. Yummy! Ok, it’s
mixed together. But it’s a big ball…I need it to be flat. Where is Mommy’s
rolling pin? Oh dear. I can’t find it. Ooooh, look, there is Daddy’s cool thing
with the neat buttons on it. If I open it up and put my play-dough in it, I can
close it, and then it will smash flat. Oh, goody! It worked! Now I have a
beautiful cake for Daddy, and it even has a pretty design on it!”

Stephen groaned again as he looked at his laptop,
with the keys covered in red play-dough. How would he ever get it out and make
it usable again? And should he discipline his daughter, or thank her for
sweetly making him a birthday cake?

“Oh, the joys of parenthood,” he sighed, before
bursting into another fit of crying laughter.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Writing Prompt #6. Choose an object in the
room. How would you describe it to a blind person?

“My, the stars are lovely
tonight,” commented Elizabeth to her husband as they and their daughter sat on
their porch one evening.

5 year old Molly grabbed
her mother’s hand, saying, “Mommy, what are stars?”

Tears formed in
Elizabeth’s eyes as she smiled sadly on her blind daughter, knowing that she
could never see nor truly appreciate the beauty that she herself took for
granted. She scrambled in her mind for a way to describe them to Molly.
Inspiration suddenly lit up her eyes, and she rose quickly, saying, “Just one
moment, Molly, and I shall describe them to you.” And with that, she hurried
into the house.

A few minutes later, she
returned, laying something in Molly’s lap as she did so. “Feel this, Molly.
This is a fabric called velvet. It is black—every bit as black as the darkness
you see daily.”

“Oh, Mommy, it’s so
soft!” exclaimed Molly, as she rubbed her hands over the luxurious fabric.

“Yes, dear, it is soft.
Now, feel the wedding ring on my hand. Do you feel the large stone on my ring?”
asked Elizabeth, as Molly eagerly explored her mother’s ring.

“Yes, Mommy.”

“That is called a
diamond. It is a precious and valuable jewel—something that costs a great deal.
It symbolizes your father’s love for me. Well, my child, the stars are just
like the velvet and my diamond. Imagine the world blanketed in black velvet.
Now envision thousands upon thousands of my diamonds sprinkled across it—each
one beautiful beyond description, and each one a symbol of the great love of
God. That, my child, is the night sky.”

“Oh, Mommy,” breathed
Molly, “How beautiful that must be. I can’t wait to see it someday.”

Tears filled Elizabeth’s
eyes, and she replied, “My dear child, I am afraid you will never see them. The
first thing you will ever see will be the face of Jesus. And once you see His
face, you will never see night or blackness again.”

A smile illumined Molly’s
face as she turned her face upward and said, “Oh, that is far better, Mommy.”
And with that hope, she remained content.

Here is something else that I wrote as a part of my brother's 30 days of writing prompts.

#5: Choose a common
or menial task with which you are familiar. Try to describe it to your reader
in a fun/interesting way, or possibly shed new light on something mundane.

Tears streamed down Kathleen’s face. “I just can’t get it right!” she
sobbed. As she sat, curled against her favorite tree in the forest, her mind
recalled the woeful events that had led her here. Kathleen, the prettiest girl
in her village, had early captured the interest and love of the local young carpenter,
Shawn. They soon wed, and thus, at the age of 19, she became the mistress of
her own home.

Beautiful, witty, kind, and compassionate, Kathleen seemed to have it
all…or so it appeared. She lacked but one thing. Raised from her infancy by her
widower father, the motherless girl knew nothing about the fine arts of cooking.

For the first few months of Kathleen and Shawn’s marriage, they
literally lived on love alone. But soon, the concrete biscuits, burned eggs,
and charcoal bacon began to wear on him. He was a carpenter, after all! He
needed more than burnt offerings for sustenance. Soon, try as he might, he
could no longer keep his complaints to himself, and his grumbling turned into
roaring. Kathleen felt disgraced and displeased with herself. What was her
beauty and charm if she could not cook?

The day before this, she had purchased a roast from the butcher, purposing
that she would attempt to make her husband’s favorite dish: pot roast. He loved
that meal, and continually talked about how his mother always cooked it for
him. Kathleen just knew she could do it if she tried hard enough.

But alas! The meat resembled beef jerky, the carrots were shriveled,
and the potatoes charred on the edges. Her husband made a valiant effort to eat
the meal, but he soon pushed back his plate, exclaiming, “How do you expect me
to eat this stuff, woman!?”and stormed out of the house. The next morning, this
scene was again repeated with her scorched bacon and eggs. Kathleen could take
no more, so burst into tears, ran out the back door, and into the forest,
falling at the base of her favorite tree. How long she cried there, she had no
way of telling. But, suddenly, she heard a soft voice saying, “What ails you,
my child?”

Kathleen blinked through her tears, and, looking up, she beheld an
older woman with a jovial face and a slightly rotund, matronly figure which
heavily bespoke of her enjoyment of the culinary arts. The stranger repeated
herself, “What ails you, child? What causes you to cry so?”

“Oh, my poor child. Do you have no mother to teach you? Ahh, I thought
not,” said the stranger in answer to Kathleen’s sorrowful shake of her head.
“Well, come, my child, I will teach you how to make a roast that will make your
man’s mouth water.”

And so saying, she led Kathleen to her house, which lay in a small
clearing in the center of the forest. Once there, she brought Kathleen into the
kitchen, and pulled out an oval shaped pot with buttons on it. “This,” she
explained, “Is the housewife’s best friend. It is called a crockpot. I have two
of these, so will let you take this one home with you for now. Now, let us
begin.”

“First, you peel about 4 large carrots, and then chop them up into
roughly 1 ½ inch chunks, like this. Next, we chop 4-5 red potatoes—again, into
rather large chunks (if you like, you may substitute 1 large sweet potato for
about 2 of the regular potatoes for added flavor). Then, we chop an onion. Now
we toss all this into the bottom of the pot,” said the kindly woman,
demonstrating it to the distraught young wife.

“Now,” said she, “We will get out my frying pan, put a tablespoon of
garlic in it, and turn the stove on to medium-high heat. Then we will place the
roast in the pan, and brown it evenly on all sides, like so. Now take the roast
and put it on top of the vegetables in the crockpot. Finally, here are 15 ounce
cans of sauerkraut, stewed tomatoes, and beef broth. Pour them on top of the
roast. Then, place the lid on the pot, and cook on high for 5-6 hours or on low
for 8-10 hours. And, ta-da! You have a roast that will fall apart in your
husband’s mouth.”

And so saying, she handed the crockpot to the grateful young wife, with
instructions to come back for cooking lessons anytime she desired. Kathleen
hurried home and turned on the crockpot. That night, when Shawn came home, a
succulent dinner awaited him. The delight with which he greeted this meal can
scarcely be described. Let me just say that Kathleen learned that day that the
way to a man’s heart truly is through his stomach.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

I was going through some old stories I had written and found this one. As it is one of my favorite ones, I thought I would share it on my blog.

My Cross

Based upon a dream I had on March 24, 2007.

“I
am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ
liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the
faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me”
(Galatians 2:20).

I tossed restlessly to and fro as I drifted in
and out of sleep. Tonight, it was not merely the pain of a back injury
that prevented me from sleeping well, but the terrifying nature of my
dream as well. Dear reader, in this story, I will try to portray the
nature of this nightmare in a way that, I hope and pray, you will not
soon forget. Dear reader, take heed and beware, for this is the vision
my mind’s eye beheld.

Terror—Evil—Darkness: Islam.

The
followers of Islam ruled the world. Their corrupt doctrine and hatred
penetrated the core of every government. America, too, had fallen prey
to its voracious and consuming nature.

You may ask, “How did this
happen? Where are the Christians?” Well, my dear friend, let me tell
you. The majority of the Christians of America had allowed the world to
seep into their lives. They had become so much like the world that they
no longer shown as lights in the darkness—they had lost the savor of
their salt. This led to their failure to rise up and take a stand
against evil and elect godly leaders for their nation. They tolerated
abortion and the “gay rights” movement. They failed to lead others to
Christ. In essence, they had become Christians who warmed a pew on
Sunday and then lived like the world the rest of the week. Those who
sincerely followed the Lord with their whole heart were much persecuted
and few in number.

Thus, God began His judgment of the nation
with the house of God (1 Peter 4:17). Sickness, marital problems, and
financial pressures plagued the majority of God’s people. Yet still they
did not turn from their wicked ways and seek His face. Therefore,
America was given corrupt leaders who scorned God’s people and abhorred
His ways. America ceased their support of Israel, and thus the economy
suffered a collapse. (Ps. 122:6). The holy name of the Lord was removed
from society. Soon, Christians who openly declared their faith were
imprisoned and often martyred. Those who remained loyal to the name of
Christ went into hiding. America—now destitute of righteousness—then
fell prey to the ravenous, yet subtle beast of Islam.

It snuck in
quietly and without much observation. It began with a few Muslims
penetrating the Congress, and then inhabiting the White House. These
Muslim leaders outlawed Christianity and proclaimed their faith the
national religion—declaring death to all who opposed them. Hearing that
many Christians had gone undercover, they developed an organization in
which they trained men and women in the basic tenets of Christianity and
sent them out into the streets to find the believers and penetrate and
destroy the heart of Christendom. Unfortunately, the varying levels of
spiritual maturity (i.e., mediocre and lukewarm, passive, vibrant and
passionate) made it difficult for the believers to discern the
difference between friend and foe. Thus, many Christians fell captive to
the wolves in sheep’s clothing.

All this, I perceived to be the state of the nation in my dream.

I
then beheld that I was one of those who had not denied Christ’s name
nor bowed knee to Allah. I had lived in hiding for many years with my
family, and often made escapades with other believers into the cities in
our area at night, where we would leave Scripture pamphlets and Bibles
in public areas—praying that God would bless our efforts and bring souls
to Him. These activities enraged the authorities and doubled their
efforts to find and destroy the “Christ-followers.”

One night, as
I sat closeted in my room reading my Bible by candlelight, I heard
banging and screaming. Startled, I hurriedly closed my Bible, stuffed it
into a secret pouch in my skirt, and blew out the candle. No sooner had
I done this, than a foot rammed through my door, reducing it to
splinters. There, standing before me, were the Muslim Secret Police. The
Captain, while glaring at me, hissed from the side of his mouth, “Is
this her?”

A woman—standing in the shadows—said, “Yes, Captain.
It is her.” As she said this, she came slowly forward, and kissed me on
the cheek. As I caught sight of her face, I reeled and nearly fell to
the floor. “No…it cannot be…” My mind struggled to comprehend this
betrayal.

“Sorry, my dear,” she sneered. “But Allah pays better than the God of the Christians.”

I
was stunned! This woman! I had known her and considered her a fellow
believer and friend! Yet she had just betrayed me to the enemy? And for
what? Money? A wave of sickness passed over me, and tears slowly began
coursing their way down my face. “May God forgive you,” I gasped.

A rag was pressed over my mouth and nose, and I soon lost all consciousness to the sickly sweet smell of chloroform.

Darkness.

Dim
light, a musty smell, a sour voice—these things dawned upon my
returning senses. “Where am I?” I opened my eyes and waited for my
vision to clear. I glanced down to find myself sitting on a wooden pew.
Then I noticed that pews filled the entire length and breadth of the
room—some overturned. A raised platform stood at one end of the room
with the splintered remains of a pulpit lying scattered across it.
Shards of stained glass windows lay strewn across the room. Torn,
beaten, and battered hymnals and Bibles filled the aisles. Blood stains
covered the carpeting and woodwork.

“An abandoned church?” I spoke my thought aloud. It was then that I realized I was not alone.

“Yesss,
an abandoned church,” hissed the sour voice. I looked behind me to find
the cruel captain’s face leering at me. “Precisely. You are an
intelligent woman. As are the rest of your ‘brethren,’ as I believe you
call each other.” With this, he gestured behind him, where I saw that
truly, I was not alone. Men and women—of varying ages—sat or lay on many
of the pews, about thirty in number. All looked dazed, as if they, too,
had just awakened from a chloroform induced state.

“This church
once had a large outreach, and numerous decisions to serve and follow
your God were made here,” enumerated the captain. “Today, we will again
use this building to make decisions about God. Today, all of you here
must decide whom you will serve—Allah or the One you call Jesus Christ.
Your predecessors in this building have made fortunate decisions, and
some not so fortunate decisions.” As he said this last statement, he
glanced pointedly at the blood stains on the carpet.

Someone spoke from the back of the room, “And if we choose Christ?”

“Then you will die,” stated the captain with an evil glint in his eyes.

A
tremor went down my spine, and terror filled my soul. But lo, I heard a
Voice whisper to my heart, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.
I, the Lord your God am your helper. Do not fear what man shall do unto
you.” Peace and calm flooded my soul, removing the terror.

“Lord,
I am yours. I do not fear what man can do unto me,” my heart whispered
in reply. The Holy Spirit then descended on me in all His power and
instructed me what to say. “Captain, may I say something to you and my
brothers and sisters here in reply to your demand?”

The captain grudgingly assented.

“Captain,
and dear ones in Christ, we have been given a choice here today—a
choice between life and death. Therefore, I plead with you, choose
life!” The captain smiled in agreement, and a few of the believers
frowned at me. Looking at the captain, I asked, “May I continue?” He
nodded his head.

“My dear brethren, I am already a dead person.
For, when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, I died. I can
say with Paul, ‘I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not
I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I
live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for
me.’ These men can only kill my mortal body—a body that I died to years
ago. However, my spirit—which is eternal—shall live with Christ for all
eternity. I do not fear death, for what can death do to me? It shall
only hasten me in my journey to that Celestial City.”

“The death I
fear is not a physical death, but a spiritual death. Should I renounce
Christ and serve Allah, then I would die spiritually. For he who will
save his own life will lose it, but he who loses his life for Christ’s
sake shall save it. The Lord has set before us this day life and death. I
therefore choose physical death and life with Christ—for to depart and
live with Christ is far better than to renounce Christ and live another
second in a world governed by Satan. Brethren, choose life…”

A
stunning blow to my mouth from the captain’s fist ended my speech. I
smiled wryly, as blood poured from my mouth, and said, “Thank you,
Lord.” A startled look appeared in the captain’s eyes for a brief moment
and then disappeared as quickly as it had come. More blood gushed from
my mouth as I haltingly said again, “Thank you, Lord.” Then turning to
the captain, I said, “You may wonder why I am thanking my Lord for this
cruel and unjust blow, but I am rejoicing that I am counted worthy to
suffer for His name’s sake.”

Anger flooded his face, and he
rammed his fist into my rib cage. I felt my ribs give way, and a sharp
pain in my chest informed me that they had probably punctured a lung and
that I had internal bleeding. I found that I was no longer able to
stand, and fell to the pew, silenced and gasping for breath. Tears
poured from my eyes as the pain grew agonizing.

A triumphant
gleam appeared in the captain’s eyes. Grabbing me by my arm and forcing
me to stand, he ordered the others in the room to stand also. “Follow
me, and you will see where your mistaken faith in Christ leads you!” he
barked.

Dragging me from the room, he led everyone outside, where
an electric fence encircled the church and a neighboring field. A
breeze of wind brought a terrible stench with it. Looking around me, I
perceived an area behind the church stacked with the corpses of martyrs.
However, my attention was jerked back to the field before us as the
captain and his underlings herded us in that direction. What was this?
Crosses? Was my instrument of death to be the same as my Lord’s?

The
captain glared at me, and then pointed to the crosses. “Is your faith
strong enough for this? Will you die as your God died?”

His look grew fierce and angry, and he shoved
me roughly to the ground. He then turned to the others, and yelled, “She
refuses to renounce her God and therefore will die as her God died—on a
cross! Will the rest of you join her in death, or will you renounce
your Jesus and bow your knees to Allah and live? If you choose to die,
then step forward.”

Ten—only ten—out of the thirty stepped
forward, saying, “We will never worship Allah and count it a privilege
to die as our Lord died.”

“Fools!” exclaimed the captain. “Officers, take them to their deaths!”

As
the armed officers of the law came forward to seize their victims, the
Spirit again impressed me to speak—a thing that I did with much
difficulty, for breathing had become difficult, as my punctured lung
slowly filled with blood. “Brethren…our Lord…went to…His cross
willing…willingly. Let us…do…also.” And so saying, I painfully rose to
my feet, and with faltering steps, made my way to a cross and lay down
upon it. To the amazement and consternation of all present, my ten
fellow believers followed suit.

“Nail them to their cross!” ordered the captain.

I
felt hands grabbing my arm, pulling my hand towards the end of the
cross. Something cold, metallic, and sharp pressed into my palm. BANG!
BANG! The hammer strokes fell, and a long spike was driven into my hand.
Shafts of pain shot up my arm. Now the other arm was pulled. “Oh Lord,
help me to bear it! Give me grace!” Again, something metallic pressed
into my hand. Again, a clanging sound flooded my ears. More pain shot up
my arm, joining the pain of the other arm.

Hands are on my
legs—causing them to bend at the knee, removing my shoes, and placing
one foot atop another. Something cold and metallic—thicker than the
others—pressed into my foot. More clanging. Pain shot up both legs. Oh
the pain! The sheer agony!

“Lord, you did this for me? Oh what love divine! They did not even whip me as they whipped you…”

A
pulling, scraping sound—the cross rises into the air. I am now
suspended in midair, hanging from a wooden beam—held fast by the nails
piercing my hands and my feet. My arms are pulled taunt. I cannot
breathe unless I push upward with my legs. The pain caused by pushing
upward with my pierced feet is an indescribable torture. I slowly rotate
my head. Ten other crosses stood next to mine—each with a faithful
witness nailed to it.

Ten more believers stepped forward, declared their faith in Christ, and walked to their cross.

I heard a voice. “Sing, Melody, sing!” it urged.

Words
came to my mind. Temporary breath came to my lungs. I sang slowly, with
many gasps for breath. But I sang with all my heart and remaining
strength.

“I have decided to follow Jesus.I have decided to follow Jesus.I have decided to follow Jesus.No turning back, no turning back.”

Voices from neighboring crosses joined mine.A hush fell over the field as we continued our song—twenty-one voices strong.

“Though none go with me, still I will follow.Though none go with me, still I will follow.Though none go with me, still I will follow.No turning back, no turning back.”

The remaining ten stepped forward and began singing.

“The world behind me, the cross before me.The world behind me, the cross before me.The world behind me, the cross before me.No turning back, no turning back.”

Thirty-one crosses now stood, raised to the sky.

A
horrific pain sliced through my lungs and heart. I heard the voice
again. “Not much longer, my child. Not much longer. You will soon be
with me.”

I pushed upward for another breath. Then I cried,
“Amazing love…that Christ…should die…on the cross…for…a…worm…like me.”
One more breath—my last one, and one more cry: “Jesus…I’m…coming home!”
My chest collapsed. My breath departed. Darkness fell upon me.

A
voice. “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and
through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest
through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame
kindle upon thee. For I am the LORD thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy
Saviour.”

Light shone through the darkness.

The voice
again—and a loving face, saying, “Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit
the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

Arms
enfolding me, glory overwhelming me. His voice continues: “Well done,
my dear one! You took up your cross and followed me. You fought the good
fight, you ran the race and finished the course, and you kept the
faith. Well done, thou good and faithful servant! Enter thou into the
joy of the Lord.”

The
questions on my mind when I awakened are those that I ask of you. Will
you die for Jesus? Will you take a stand for your faith? In the past
century alone, more Christians have died for their faith than in all the
previous years combined—and Islam is a great perpetuator of these
deeds. Friends! Persecution is coming, just as Christ promised it would.
Yea, all who live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution. How
will you respond to that persecution? Will you rejoice as commanded and
stand firm in your faith? Or will you cower in fear and disgrace?

My
friends and readers, live for Jesus! Die for Jesus! All earthly pain
and sorrow that we face here on earth will be worth it all when we see
Jesus. He gave His life for us! What have we given to Him? Right now,
purpose to die to self. Place yourself and all your ambitions, hopes,
dreams, and passions upon that cross, crucify them and leave them there.
Purpose to know and live for Jesus only, and Him crucified. For then,
we can say with Martin Luther, “The body they may kill, God’s truth
abideth still. His kingdom is forever.”

Friday, January 4, 2013

My brother is hosting "30 Days of Writing Prompts," where every day he gives us a prompt, and we have to write a minimum of 200 words on the chosen subject. Today's prompt is: "Share one of your favorite quotes. Tell the reader why it is important, significant, or meaningful."

I wrote the following as my response, and thought I'd share it here on my blog, which shamefully gets ignored most of the time. :-)

Edwin Paxton Hood—an English author—once said, “Be as careful of the books you read, as of the company you keep; for your habits and character will be as much influenced by the former as the latter.” My father firmly believed this, and, as a result, kept us well supplied with a treasure trove of books.

Books became some of my best friends, and I spent much time with them. I have therefore read numerous books and learned many things from them. But of all the books I have read and of all the lives and theology I have explored through them, one of the quotes that has stayed with me for many years now comes from a book called, “Seeing and Savoring Jesus Christ” by John Piper. In this book, Mr. Piper states, “The glory of Jesus Christ is that He is always out of sync with the world and therefore always relevant for the world. If He fit nicely, He would be of little use.”

As a young girl, I knew that I did not “fit in” with the others my age. I dressed differently, talked differently, listened to different music, and even went to school differently. Sometimes I felt glad about this fact, but often I struggled with it. I hated the way the other girls in my Sunday school class would stare at me, ignore me, or even insult me—often insinuating that I found my clothes in my granny’s attic trunk.

I struggled with this for many years. But one day my dad gave me the book by John Piper, encouraging me to read it. When I reached that sentence I stopped, paused, and reread it several times. I then realized that following in Christ’s footsteps requires being out of “sync” with the culture around us.

C.S. Lewis once said, “A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic—on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg—or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

Indeed, Jesus came preaching a message entirely different from the culture of the time. He taught that if a soldier compelled you to carry his sack a mile, you should go with him for two miles. Shocking! He healed on the Sabbath day. Horror! He outright called the people around Him an “evil and adulterous generation,” “whited sepulchers,” and a “faithless generation.” Outrageous! Yet, people came away saying, “Never man spake like this man!” Even as a boy, all who heard Him speak were amazed at His answers.

Jesus taught true love and sacrifice, yet He did not mince words when it came to telling the truth. Because His message contrasted so starkly with the “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots” of the Scribes and Pharisees, He became relevant and therefore useful to the world. Had He come merely preaching the rules of the religious leaders of that day, He could not have brought life to us, nor could He have freed us from the bondage of sin.

Mr. Piper’s book taught me that because I serve the Risen Lord, I do not need to “fit in” with the world around me. If I look like they do, talk like they do, listen to their music, watch their movies, read their books, etc., why should they listen to me when I tell them of a Christ Who came to deliver them from their sin and bondage? No, as I learned that day, I MUST remain “out of sync with world” so that I can become relevant and useful to the world.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Excitement coursed through my veins as the seemingly 50
pounds of satin slipped over my head. My best friend fastened the dress, and I
turned to look in the mirror to see the result. “This is it,” I thought, “This
is the day when my dreams come true!” My girlfriends chattered happily around
me as they too prepared themselves for the glorious hour ahead.I listened happily to them, and then turned
from the mirror to return to the waiting room. With my hair curled to
perfection, a tiara sitting on my head, jewelry to match the beadwork on my
dress, and a long, flowing train, I truly felt like a princess—like a bride. My
steps felt light as I went to the room.

Minutes ticked past, and everyone around me hurried their
preparations. Girls curled their hair, painted their nails, and then slipped
into their blue satin gowns. The clock seemed to slow down, and I felt as if I
watched the scene from somewhere outside myself as I once again realized that
the time had almost arrived to join my life to another. As I watched the
scurrying around me, trepidation suddenly overtook my soul.

“How can I do this? I know nothing about being a wife. Can I
really be a good wife for him?” I felt so young, so unprepared and lacking
knowledge. No, I couldn’t do it. What had possessed me to think that I could!?
My hands began shaking uncontrollably.

My wedding coordinator perceived my nervousness, and shooed
everyone out of the room so I could have 5 minutes of quiet to relax. I took
several deep breaths. “Father, help me!” I prayed. “I can’t do this on my own.
Please grant me strength!”

My bridesmaids returned and gathered around me in a circle
and prayed for me. I began shaking again, and tears began forming in my eyes. I
took several more deep breaths and willed the tears to go away. “I can’t ruin
my make-up!” Peace finally began settling over my heart as my sisters, friends,
and mother prayed for me. I knew then that God was truly with me and in this
day.

My dad came to the door. “It’s time,” he said. One by one,
the bridesmaids left the room and walked down the aisle to their places. I took
my dad’s arm, and looked up at him. “You’re the most beautiful bride I have
ever seen—besides your mother, that is,” he said. I smiled at him, and again
suppressed the tears.

Trumpets began playing. My time had come! Emotions
overwhelmed me as I walked down the aisle. As every eye looked at me, I again
wondered if I could really do this. But, then, I looked ahead and saw my
promised husband, smiling at me, waiting to receive me. Joy overruled all other
emotions as I gazed into his loving eyes. I remembered that I had arrived at
that moment by God’s appointment, therefore I need fear nothing. Thus, perfect
love cast out all fear.

I reached the end of the aisle, where I took my beloved’s
hand for the first time. Oh the thrill of that moment! I squeezed his hand and
arm to assure him of my love. We then climbed the steps to stand before my
father, and repeat the sacred vows that made us man and wife. A joyful
solemnity came over me as I carefully repeated each irrevocable word. I felt
the Lord standing next to me, upholding me, and witnessing this sacred and holy
act. Again, I knew He had ordained this moment.

Finally, I heard the words, “I now pronounce you man and
wife. Donald, you may kiss your bride.” My heart began beating wildly as my
husband (my husband!) pulled me to him. Of that moment, no pen can tell or
tongue describe, only know that a first kiss is a most precious and valuable
treasure. How glad I am that I saved it for that moment! We then turned to face
our friends and guests, and how my heart soared as I heard them clap and cheer
as my father introduced, “Mr. and Mrs. Donald Preuninger”! We then floated down
the aisle out of the sanctuary, taking our first steps together along the “till
death do you part” pathway.

Exactly four years have passed from that day to this, and today,
as I prepare to spend the day with my wonderful husband, I am so glad I did not
hearken to the fears resounding in my mind. God has tremendously blessed our
marriage and I can still say with confidence that God predestined our union.
The last four years almost seem like a whirlwind. We have made new friends,
lost dear relatives, made a home together, and, most importantly, God has given
us two dear children. God is in it all and we could not have done it without
Him. I praise my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ for the wondrous things He has
done for us, and thank Him for the incredible man He gave me four years ago
today. His ways are indeed perfect, and His gifts are the best. And how blessed
is the marriage that He ordains!

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is
from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no
variableness, neither shadow of turning” (James1:17).